Misnomer
by Mardy Lass
Summary: The one that got away turns out to be harder to lose than they thought. Sam works hard at this one, while Dean finds out that getting the girl is not always a good thing. Rated T for innuendo, language, fighting and blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

_Thanks to Steve Carlson and Jensen Ackles for giving us the song 'Come Around More Alabama'. Apologies for its abuse herein. Couldn't resist. (And I just wanted to finally get the phrase "fake shemp" into a story!)_

* * *

**ONE**

"Sam, hold still," Dean huffed for the third time.

"It's hard to stay still with you jabbing that thing in me!"

"Well if you'd stop moving for just two minutes, I could get on with it."

"It hurts. You're not doing it right."

"I am! I have done this like a thousand times, just shut the hell up."

"On girls," Sam protested.

"Well that's where you're lucky then," Dean replied caustically.

"Jerk," Sam muttered. "Ow! You did that on purpose! You're enjoying this!"

"Yeah, right! You think this is how I want to spend my afternoon? There are better things I could be doing than bending over you and the mess you're making, Sam."

"Just hurry up and pull it out."

"Well if you had a little less hair, Mr Wannabe Werewolf, I could do this a lot quicker."

"Just get it over with," Sam said, gritting his teeth.

"Look, you're gonna have to bend over a little further, you're dripping on the floor," Dean tutted.

"If I bend over much further I'm gonna pass out," Sam snapped.

"Fine!" Dean exploded, letting go of Sam's neck and slamming the tweezers down on the bedside table, "You get the damned glass out yourself!"

He turned away and walked across the motel room, plonking himself down in the wooden chair under the window and looking at Sam's laptop. He spared his woozy brother a glance before huffing to himself and putting his hand out to the keyboard, pressing the spacebar to cancel the screensaver.

"Dude," Sam managed, putting a hand out to the rickety chest of drawers and straightening slowly, feeling his wet scalp with the other, "it's still bleeding."

"What do you want me to do, kiss it better?" Dean growled. "For Christ's sake Sammy, I try to get it out and all you do is piss and moan! Do it yourself!"

"I will," Sam grunted, snatching up the tweezers and walking into the bathroom. "Of course," he called through the mostly closed door, "if you hadn't _shot_ the thing, it wouldn't have pushed me through a plate glass door."

"If I hadn't _shot_ the thing? If I _hadn't_ shot the thing we'd be knee-deep in corpses. You want to explain that to the local PD?" Dean shot back. He looked back at the laptop and paused, reading.

"Ow!" Sam hissed, and Dean hesitated. He flicked his view up to the bathroom door, then back at the laptop. He read impatiently for half an hour while he listened to Sam ouch, hiss and swear from beyond the door.

_Why do I have to listen to all his friggin' noise?_ He huffed, determined not to listen. But there was a persistent, unpleasant after-thought: _Cos I was the one who didn't protect him. I wasn't doing my job. That's why he's bleeding and swearing all over yet another motel bathroom._

"Goddamn it!" the younger sibling hissed abruptly, and Dean's patience snapped.

He slapped the laptop shut, got to his feet and marched over to the bathroom. He pulled the door open and simply walked over, snatching the tweezers from his brother's bloodied and trembling hand and pushing him toward the shower.

"Bend over, shut up, and think happy thoughts," he bit out, pushing at his shoulder.

Sam did as told, putting his hands on his knees and closing his eyes. Dean pulled at the matted, bloodied hair at the back of the crown of Sam's head and rifled through it slowly. He found the small shiny offender and scraped at it with the tweezers.

"Look, Dean," Sam tried.

"Hold still."

"Really, man," he hissed through clenched teeth, "I know you're angry, but it's not your fault it got away."

"Well we were the only two there, Sam. So either it was your fault or it was mine. Now just stop talking," he grunted.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, then just decided to let it go. Suddenly he felt pressure on the back of his head and he screwed his face up, determined not to make a noise. There was a slight squelching sound, and then Dean let go of his cranium.

"Got it. It's tiny," he said, surprised. Sam straightened and turned to him, but wobbled slightly. He put a hand out to the glass shower frame to steady himself. "Woah," Dean said, looking past the glass lump in the tweezers. He put his hand to his dizzy brother's arm, steadying him. He let his gaze flick over his grazed, cut face and then looked away quickly. "Wash that blood off, get to bed," he ordered, turning and walking out of the bathroom, still carrying the tweezers and the rescued glass.

"Ooh yes sir," Sam said, trying to be annoyed. But he put his hands to his t-shirt and pulled it off quickly, glad to be rid of the damp cotton that smelled so strongly of copper.

Dean walked back to the laptop, opening it up again and waiting for it to come off its slam-induced standby. He rubbed an eye, pausing to find the back of his hand smeared with a little blood, and sighed. He sat back, looked over at the bathroom door, then up at the ceiling.

Abruptly an image of the hugely stocky, almost man-like creature they had attempted to kill that afternoon flashed in front of his eyes. He remembered the long, wolf-like jaws, the smell of warm fur, the strangely thick limbs. The sound of his gun firing, the smell of the expulsion, the satisfaction at seeing the thing take a bullet and fall over backwards; it all came back.

But it had got up again. It had grabbed the nearby Sam and hurled him at the glass doors. And then it had turned its back and run, not stopping to check about whom Dean was more concerned.

He heard the shower start and shook his head, looking back at the laptop. The RSS feed that Sam had set up – before moaning about the non-stop bleeding from his head – updated itself and Dean blinked at the news tag. He clicked on it to bring up the attached police statement. His eyes shifted abruptly from weary jade to angry emerald.

"Son… of… a… bitch," he breathed to himself, already reaching for Sam's notebook.

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Sam came out of the bathroom and crossed to the bed, reaching for his duffle and pulling it open.

"Look, all we have to do is find this thing and use bigger rounds next time," he said patiently.

"I noticed," Dean said, sounding pre-occupied, and Sam looked over. Dean was still at the laptop, reading and scribbling.

"You're writing in my notebook?" Sam asked lightly.

"I'm writing in your notebook," Dean admitted, not looking up from his notes.

"You're writing in my notebook," Sam reiterated flatly.

"Yup. Still."

"Dude, you're writing in my note-"

"Yeah! I get it!" Dean interrupted. "What?"

"No offence man, but you can't spell. And your notes don't make sense."

"They do to me. Think that's why they're called 'notes', Sam," he said firmly.

"And you can't even name stuff!" Sam continued, up-ending his duffle and letting his clothes pile out onto his bed.

"Yeah I can," Dean said defensively.

"Oh yeah? So what was with the 'creepy-assed human-wolf-thing' description?" he accused.

"Come on Sam, it was like a human, but a bit like a wolf, and it was… kinda creepy," he admitted, looking over at him. "What would you have called it, college boy?"

"I would have called it an erythrocyte-dependent homo-lupo-form," replied pointedly. Dean looked at him – just looked. Sam sighed. "A wolf-like man-creature that appears to drink red blood?"

"I knew that," Dean scoffed, turning back to his notes.

"Yeah, right," Sam muttered. Dean turned in the chair to look at him.

"Look man, just cos I don't use big words every five minutes like some_over_-privileged kids do, don't mean I don't know 'em," he said haughtily. Sam smiled unexpectedly.

"Oh yeah?" he said slyly. "Give me one."

"What?" Dean asked, looking back at the laptop quickly.

"I said tell me a big word. Come on, should be easy," he teased.

"How about you shut your piehole and get to bed before I swing for you, cos I have primogeniture here," his big brother said irritably.

Sam blinked and thought about it. "You have what?"

"Primogeniture," Dean said simply, looking at him again. "Don't tell me you don't know what 'primogeniture' means," he grinned suddenly, and Sam looked back at his pile of clothes. Dean laughed abruptly. "It means I'm the oldest, and I come first in everything," Dean added smugly, and Sam looked back at him.

"Fine. Just… be careful with my computer," he said easily, but there was perhaps the tiniest amount of annoyance in there too.

Dean smiled and shook his head, looking back at the screen and reading.

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Sam opened his eyes and had to admit, his head felt a lot better for having had a nap. He yawned and stretched, sniffing to himself and rolling onto his left side. He looked at the weak early evening sun still trying to come through the motel curtains. He took in the laptop by the window, Dean's black jacket on the back of the chair still, and the rather large Starbuck's take-out cup with lid next to him on the side table.

He smiled, sitting up slowly and reaching for it. It was little more than luke-warm but he shrugged it off, pulling off the lid and finding the coffee warm enough inside.

"Thanks, man," he called at the bathroom door. He pushed himself out of bed and walked to the laptop, noticing it was still on the screensaver. He pressed at the spacebar to see it had been left in the act of displaying a news story, updated an hour ago, from the local town online magazine. He blinked and yawned, then bent over to read it. "Aw shit," he muttered, suddenly troubled.

He looked up and at the bathroom door. "Dean! Looks like our creepy-assed human-wolf-thing has struck again. It's killed a little girl, her father's–." He hesitated as he realised there was no reply from the only other place in the motel room from which it could have come.

He put the cup down and padded to the bathroom door. He pushed it open.

It was empty.

He turned and looked around, uncomfortable.

"This isn't good," he muttered to himself. "Please tell me you didn't–"

He crossed to the windows quickly, pulling back the curtain and looking out.

The parking lot looked the same. Except the Impala was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

Dean put a hand out to the man's shoulder reassuringly.

"Sure?" he asked. The man grunted at him, reaching out unsteadily for the shot glass on the bar top. His fingers connected with the glass and he lifted it, looking at Dean.

"Sure," he confirmed, mostly slurred.

Dean put his hand out confidently and picked up his shooter.

"Quickest to five then," he said quietly, pointing at him with his free hand.

"Make it six," he said, much more slowly than he thought he did. "My little girl was six. Now she's gone."

"Six," Dean nodded quickly, then looked at the barmaid to avoid the man's anguished eyes. "Six?"

"Alrighty, but you two better have medical coverage," she sighed, turning away and picking up the cocktail shaker again. She grabbed bottlenecks and slushed in the ice, picking it up and shaking quickly, watching her two paying customers eye each other still. She whipped out two more shot glasses, filled them with their weapon of choice and stood back. "Ok gents, on my count," she said. "Ready?"

"Ready," they chorused, and she sighed, hands on her hips.

"Ok then, for the gold. Three… two… one… Go!"

The two men chugged down the first shot. Dean was slightly quicker. He reached for the second, still despatching the first from the back of his throat. The second flew down, not even touching the sides. He slammed the glass down quickly and lifted the third, then fourth, then fifth. He paused to belch out a cloud of noxious fumes before pouring the last one down his throat.

He slammed down the glass with a victorious "Gaah!", drawing the attention of the rest of the barstool occupants. He looked up at his opponent.

He had paused, his hand on the fifth glass, just looking at it, frozen in the act of picking it up.

"Dude," Dean slurred, putting a hand out to his shoulder to shake him.

"Wait!" the barmaid cried.

Too late. As Dean touched his jacket the man slid off the stool and onto the floor in a heap.

"Well," Dean said philosophically, wobbling and then resting his arm on the bar top to steady himself, "probably better that way."

"Hey!" came a shout from behind him, and he looked at the barmaid quickly.

"Is that a tall dude, brown pansy-assed hair, face like he's just scraped crap off his shoe?" he asked quickly.

She flicked her eyes over to the door, then back at Dean, putting her hands on her hips.

"Uh-huh," she confirmed.

"Damn," Dean hissed, putting his hands flat to the bar to help himself turn away. "I ain't here. Where's the back door?"

"To your left," she said, looking back over and watching the 'tall dude with the pansy-assed hair' approach. Something about his stride told her he was displeased. She looked back at Dean, currently looking around, his face scrunched up in confusion. "_That_ left," she said, putting a hand out and pushing him round in the correct direction.

"Thanks," he croaked, sliding his hand in his pocket and pulling out money. "That'll probably cover it," he managed. "Can you… do something with him?" he asked, chucking a thumb at the floor. She stared at him. He looked down at the man on the wooden tiling, then up at her. "Look lady, he lost his daughter this afternoon."

"Shit! That was _him_?" she asked, her attitude changing abruptly. "The wolf attack? How could that happen?"

"Cos someone didn't stop it," he said bitterly. She looked back at him, lost, and he slapped his hand on the counter top, rapping his ring against it loudly. "Forget it, not your problem," he managed, turning determinedly and heading for the door, using the bar top to keep him upright.

"Hey!" Sam called curtly, dropping a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean winced and stopped. "Just what the hell is going on here?"

Dean screwed up his face, thinking. Then he folded it into an affable grin and attempted to spin round. He missed the bar with his left hand and Sam caught him hurriedly before he went the same way as his former drinking buddy.

"Hey, Sammy!" he grinned, and Sam looked away quickly, desperate not to breathe in the alcohol fumes. "Come on, your turn. Now I _know_ ya can't get six shots down before–"

"Dean, you were supposed to be asking about – strange creatures," he said politely, mindful of who was listening.

"Hey, I was doin' just that, man," Dean protested, putting his hands up to Sam's arms and pushing him back slightly. He let go and wobbled, and Sam grabbed just one of his elbows this time. "I know all there is to know about – about – what was it again? Effmashite hominid-loopy-forms," he finished proudly.

"Let's just get back to the motel," he said, pulling on his elbow slightly.

"Naw, come on, this _angel_ here makes the best–"

"Dean," he said firmly, and his brother paused. Sam noticed his eyes waver from one of his to the other with the complete opposite of silent lucidity, and simply shook his head. "Come on. I found your car outside, man. It's – she's all by herself," he added slyly, smiling apologetically.

"My baby!" Dean heaved plaintively, trying to push Sam to one side. "Where's ma baby?"

"I'll take you to her, come on," he said, grabbing his brother's ample bicep and pulling him round. He looked at the barmaid, nodding his thanks. Then he stood behind his brother, putting both of his hands to his shoulders and frog-marching him to the door.

They made it to the doorjamb before Dean tripped and stumbled. Sam grabbed at his upper arms quickly and Dean belched generously as he put his hands out against the doorjamb. Keeping his balance at this point, however, would have first involved him being conscious of the difference between up and down.

"Damn – think there was more Nurple than Purple in them shots," he chuckled. Sam sighed and simply manoeuvred him out of the door and into a warm summer night.

They made it across the car park and then Dean let out a half-hearted cheer.

"There y'are, baby!" he slurred, breaking free of Sam's grip and lurching toward the Impala. He landed heavily against the driver's door, searching through his jeans pockets for keys.

"Dean, you are _not_ driving, don't even think about it," Sam said quickly.

"Aw c'mon, Sam, you ain't drivin'," he laughed. "I wanna get to a bed _tonight_, not next week."

"Ok, fine," Sam shrugged, folding his arms. "When you've driven her into a tree and totalled her, I'll stand back and point and laugh."

Dean paused, thinking. He let his shoulders sag abruptly. He hiccupped, belched at length, then turned and looked at him.

"I hate you," he said with a resigned sigh, and Sam grinned. He watched Dean pull the keys from his pocket and unlock the driver's door. He opened his mouth but then gave up, watching his big brother wang open the door and crawl in on his hands and knees.

He mountaineered his way to the passenger seat, squirming around until he was more or less sat upright. He put his hands to the dashboard, sliding them apart and then back together again, muttering sweet nothings.

Sam ignored him, sitting in the driver's seat and shaking his head. Dean leaned over and put his hand out for the steering wheel to brace himself. Due to a small error in judgement fuelled entirely by the recent over-indulgence in the combination of grenadine syrup, sweet and sour mix, apple schnapps and perhaps fatally, blue curacao liqueur and vodka, his hand missed its target and he almost ended up in the driver's footwell headfirst.

Sam grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back, hanging onto his t-shirt firmly.

"Dean," he sighed, but his brother wasn't listening. He lifted the keys and attempted to get the longest one into the ignition barrel. He missed once, frowned and regrouped, the tip of his tongue sticking out slightly as he squinted at the ignition. He managed to get it in and chuckled in victory, sitting back.

Sam just watched him, unimpressed. Dean grinned at him delightedly, wiggling a finger at the key and twitching his eyebrows up at it a few times, well proud of himself. Sam rolled his eyes.

"What now, do I have to wait for you to do your victory dance? Or can we just go?"

Dean's face lit up and he put a hand on the door lever, turning to get out. Sam reached over and clamped a hand on his shoulder again hastily.

"Don't you dare! We're leaving!" he called. Dean laughed and sat back in the seat. Sam let go of him and started the car quickly.

"Let her purr for a moment, man," Dean slurred suddenly.

"Dean… Get over it," he sighed.

"Naw man, warm her over first. She don't like it when you run her cold like that."

Sam just looked at him. "You ungrateful bastard!" he snapped. "Do you have any idea what I was doing while you were proving you were a man by drinking beyond your limit – again?" he asked loudly, riled.

"Er… doing geek stuff?" he hazarded innocently.

"I was at the motel, going nuts looking for you cos you just up and split without even a note! I thought you'd gone off and tried to find the creepy-assed man-wolf-thing to kill it in some stupid attempt to make up for that little girl!" Sam protested. "I only found you cos someone remembered seeing this old Imp–"

"Woah, dude, chiiiill," Dean cooed, leaning over with both hands and stroking down Sam's right arm. Sam shook him off lightly and Dean chuckled. "Whatever man, don't get so – _ooh_! Look! Hot chick! Nine o'clock!" he hissed urgently.

Sam looked out of his window quickly, realising a shape was walking round the back of the car. He flicked his gaze up to the rear-view mirror and followed the girl as she rounded the boot of the Impala, heading for Dean's door. He sighed like it was all cosmically unjust and waited.

The girl bent over, leaning her forearms on Dean's windowsill. He wound the window down quickly, grinning at her.

"Hi," she said warmly. "You left so quickly before, I didn't get a chance to give you this," she said, brandishing a small piece of paper.

"Ooh lookie," Dean grinned complacently. "Hey Sammy, what do you think this could be?" he teased. He took the paper, opening it and reading it quickly.

"Well for one thing, it's for your brother," she said clearly.

Dean's face fell, then screwed up in confusion for a long second. Sam cleared his throat loudly, leaned over, and pulled the paper from his brother's fingers smartly.

"Thank you," he said politely, looking out of Dean's car window and smiling up at the barmaid warmly.

"So you'll call me?" she dared. He swallowed, trying to conceal it. His gaze flashed to Dean's still-confused expression, still directed at his empty fingers, then back at her.

"Yeah, sure," he said lightly.

She grinned and winked at him, pushing herself up from the window and disappearing back round the car. Both brothers leaned forward in their seats to watch her swish her way back in through the bar room exit.

The door closed behind her, and still the brothers didn't move.

Eventually Dean's head fell slightly to his right, his gaze tilting out of his own window, his expression still looking very much confused. Sam leaned back.

"Motel then," he smiled, sliding the Impala into gear and checking his mirrors before reversing her up and round slowly. He slid her into Drive and aimed her for the exit, gliding out and onto the main road.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

It was dark and damp as the Impala thundered down the road. Sam glanced at Dean, who was still staring out of the side window, befuddled.

Sam cleared his throat quietly. "So what did you find out about this erythrocyte-dependent homo-lupo-form in a bar that I couldn't find out from the internet?" he asked gamely.

Dean shook himself, turning to look at Sam.

"Description, possible direction it left in, possible nesting site, yadda yadda yadda," he allowed, looking back out of the side window. It was silent for a few moments. "She was six, man."

"Dean–"

"Six. Six years old. And now she's dead cos I didn't kill it," he managed.

"Look, we'll find it and kill it."

"Won't bring her back."

"But it'll stop other people getting killed." He pouted at the steering wheel, not wanting to look over at his brother. "Anyway, we got details now." He paused, thinking. "Look… You know there's always one that… gets away or just causes complete carnage before we can get to it. It's not your fault." He cast him a look, then fixed his eyes back on the road. "And at least now we're more prepared to kill it. Properly this time."

Dean's face lost its misery slowly, his lips starting to lift at the corners. Sam noticed and looked at him.

"What?" he asked, undecided as to whether to smile as well. There was something desperate about Dean's smile, as if it were that or collapse. Sam decided not to think about it as Dean launched into a huge grin and reached out, pushing at his brother's arm.

"Sammy! You got a girl's number! We should celebrate!" he cried, almost chuckling.

Sam gave his arm a gentle shake to free it from his brother's touch, shaking his head dismissively. "Dean, just think how much sleep you're going to need to recover from all that booze."

"I've got a lead. And anyway, he needed a few drinks. We both did. Leave me alone," he said a little grumpily, and Sam sighed, recognising the first wave of Dean's particular brand of foul mood when he saw it. He swallowed and hoped his brother had drunk more than he'd paid for, and would soon just pass out before he flipped all the way over into self-loathing territory.

Dean looked back out of his own side window and shifted round in the seat slowly, leaning his forehead against the glass. He watched the dark road whisk by for a while, before Sam heard the unmistakeable sound of a husky hum.

"Deeeean," Sam said warningly. Dean smiled to himself, but his humming only got louder. "Dean," Sam reiterated, this time more firmly. Dean simply pulled in a deep breath, humming more loudly. "Dean! I am_not_ listening to you for the twenty miles till the motel!"

"_The numbers and the names, oh and all these funny games we play to stay clear_," Dean sang suddenly, ignoring his brother. "_Tell me what you're running from. I know that it's not me_!" he crowed, lifting and shaking little jazz hands as he added, "_It's not me!_"

"Dean!" he protested.

"_Cos you're tangled in my thoughts these days. I know if I could make you stay just about a minute more, then you'd coooooooooome around more Alabama! You would coooooooooome around more Alabama_!" Dean continued at full husky volume, oblivious.

Sam fumed, leaned across and whipped the glovebox open quickly. He yanked out a wide variety of miscellaneous items before he came across what he was looking for. He tossed it into his brother's face quickly.

"_You should coooooooooome around more Alabama – cos it might just­_ – oh hey, Doritos!" Dean interrupted himself, grinning. He grappled with the bag, managing to get it open quite quickly considering. He plunged his hand in, lifting out a crisp and shoving it in his mouth. "You're an awesome brother sometimes," he managed, continuing to eat.

"Actually? It's cos you can't sing and eat at the same time, and I know which one you'd rather do," Sam said smugly. His grin faded as he heard Dean suck in a breath. "Dude! Seriously! Just eat!"

Dean chuckled as he ate, sliding down in the seat and getting comfortable. He heard Sam sniggering and looked over at him again. "What now?"

"Nothing, dude. Just… thinking of your hangover tomorrow." He cast a sly glance at Dean before looking back at the dark road. "You have a lead on this creature thing, and we _are_ going to be there first thing in the morning."

"Sure," Dean shrugged. "Easy."

"You say that now," Sam grinned evilly. "I can't wait to put the boot in tomorrow morning."

"Hey, bring it on Mr Lightweight," Dean replied smugly. "I wouldn't drink it if I couldn't take it."

"We'll see," Sam said airily, "we'll see."

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Sam opened his eyes and yawned, looking at the ceiling. He pushed himself to sit up in bed, sniffing and leaning his elbows on his knees.

He looked to his left, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He spotted his brother, face-down on his bed. He had at least managed to get his own boots and t-shirt off, but had been content to pass out in his jeans, it seemed.

Sam grinned evilly, getting out of bed quietly. He went through his usual routine of showering, shaving and dressing before walking back into the main room. Dean was still immobile and he sighed, walking over and opening his brother's duffle. He emptied everything out on his bed, finding the small box of fake IDs. He sorted through them slowly, looking at the clock and then his brother.

He put down the two chosen IDs, crouching down by Dean's face on the bed. He let his expression bend into an almost Satanic show of radiant amusement. He put a hand out and flicked his brother's ear harshly.

Dean didn't so much as flinch. Sam's grin slipped a tad, then he stood slowly. He put his two hands next to his brother's face, pressed them down into the mattress firmly, and took a deep breath.

"_Fire! Fire!_" he hollered, bouncing as hard as he could against the mattress.

Dean jerked up and attempted to struggle off the bed, panicked. He only succeeded in missing one edge of the mattress.

Sam jumped back out of the way and watched his brother tumble to the floor. He grabbed at the bed quickly and held himself upright, slumped against the side of the bed. Sam simply stood back, folding his arms and watching with a big grin on his face.

Dean looked around, then blinked blearily and crawled back onto the bed, grumbling something.

"Dean, you said we could go interview your lead this morning," he said loudly. Dean mumbled something into his pillow, and Sam walked closer. "So get up," he added. Dean mumbled something else. "Get up, or I'll pour water over your head."

Dean rolled his head to one side with all the enthusiasm of a listing ship.

"You ain't Dad," he managed by way of protest, and Sam huffed. He walked back into the bathroom, filled the tooth-mug with cold water, and walked back over to his brother. He looked at the mug, then his brother, then grinned. He flung the freezing water in the approximate direction of his brother's head.

Dean growled something and shoved his hands under him. He pushed himself up, whipping round and rising to his feet faster than Sam had ever seen a human move. He advanced on his younger brother quickly, raising a hand to point at him.

"You – you bast–!" he began.

Then he pushed past Sam and all but ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sam heard the eminently discernible sounds of his brother abruptly rejecting most of the alcohol he had swallowed the night before, and simply grinned in satisfaction.

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"So," Sam said loudly, pulling the Impala to a stop at the kerb. "This is Park Hospital. According to your notes – which I could only just read – three nightshift workers have spotted a strange thing on the grounds, not long after each attack. And you can't spell '_coffee break_'. That's like car brakes, not taking a–. _Anyway_, an 'animal man thing resembling a wolf' has been shot at twice by a night-watchman, a Bill Sakosc, the guy you were trying to drink under the table last night – Dean, are you listening?"

His older brother's head had slumped to his arm, currently on the windowsill, hanging out of it. A slight snore had begun to emanate from him and Sam huffed to himself.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," he sighed, opening the door and climbing out. He slammed the door hard, hearing Dean snort and grumble something. He ducked down and looked in the window.

"This the place?" Dean managed, but Sam just looked at him. He watched him scrub at his face with both hands before licking dry lips and squinting at his younger brother with extremely red-rimmed eyes.

"Tell you what, you stay here and sleep off the rest of that alcohol like a lazy-ass, and I'll do the important work here," he said snidely, hoping to anger him.

"Cool. Thanks," Dean said immediately, letting his head back to the seat and closing his eyes. He shifted, grunting and getting comfortable, while Sam just watched, his mouth open slightly.

He straightened up and walked through the cark park and up to the main doors of the hospital, trying to push his annoyance at his brother from his mind.

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Sam walked down the path and to the car, sniffing to himself as he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He got comfortable, then pulled the door closed with a squeak and a thunk, turning to hand his notebook to Dean.

The passenger seat was empty. Sam simply looked at the seat, wondering, until he heard a quiet snort and a grumble from behind him. He twisted round to see Dean stretched out on the rear seat, apparently asleep on his back.

He hesitated for a long moment, then looked at his watch and thought for a second. He pouted, put his notebook down in the passenger seat, then sniffed and looked back at his brother.

"Uh… Dean?" he called. Dean grunted in reply. "Look man, you alright? You want anything?" he asked him, but Dean simply grunted again, making Sam frown. "It's nearly three in the afternoon. Are you seriously still ganked from all that booze?"

Dean simply twitched a thumb upwards and mumbled something. Sam raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Well alright. Mr Patrick Chow, head night-watchman, has been very forthcoming about his own run-in with the animal. We should definitely come back here and check out the watch tonight."

Dean simply grunted again and waved his index finger in the general direction of the steering wheel. Sam shrugged and turned, starting the car and pulling away from the kerb slowly.

He drove for about thirty minutes, casting quick looks over his shoulder every now again to check on his brother. He finally pulled over at a modestly priced steak house, killing the engine and turning in the seat to look at Dean.

"Dude," he said brightly. Dean had squirmed onto his left side and looked extremely comfortable, having melted into the rear seat like warm butter into a waffle. He didn't move and Sam leaned over, pushing at his knee forcefully. "Hey!"

"Hmm," Dean managed.

"Food! Come on, food!" he said enthusiastically. Dean didn't move. "Alright. But I'm going in and eating. _You_ can sleep in the back seat like a wino," he added tartly. He peered more closely at him and realised that nothing and no-one was going to be able to incite Dean to move. His heavy, regular breathing appeared to indicate complete and utter relaxation.

Sam huffed, turning and getting out of the car abruptly. He was about to slam the door but paused, instead pushing it closed gently and shaking his head. He walked away, up a couple of steps and in through the automatic doors.

Presently Dean stirred. He pushed himself upright and steadied himself against the seats in front, moving about as fast as an ant stuck in honey. He blinked suffering eyes, pushing his way between the seats and picking up Sam's notebook from the passenger seat with almost-controlled fingers. Then he tossed it to one side and picked up what he actually wanted.

He smiled to himself as he pulled the barmaid's piece of paper from his pocket, then concentrated on his thumb as he pressed her number into Sam's phone slowly. He pressed the 'call' button and waited.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Sam was just receiving his rather large steak as he noticed Dean walk into the restaurant, wearing his sunglasses. He thanked the waitress and sat back, waiting for his brother to stumble into the opposite seat of his booth.

"There you are. I was starting to think you'd died," Sam smiled deliberately.

"Only a little," Dean grunted, and Sam noticed his eyes flicker toward the steak before he sat back, as if to be further away.

"You want one?" Sam grinned.

"Naw, I'm good," Dean managed, but Sam could tell from his white face that he was anything but.

"Are you ever gonna get over your hangover?" he asked, leaning forward and picking up his cutlery.

"I didn't have that much."

"Dude, there were so many empty shot glasses on that bar top I'm surprised it didn't collapse under the weight," he replied, carving into the steak and smelling the delicious hot aroma waft up toward him. He speared a particularly mouth-watering chunk of meat with his fork.

"Hey, I was just trying to inculcate the guy, it was only a dozen or so shots," Dean said, off-hand.

Sam paused the fork before it reached his mouth. "Do what?" he asked, confused.

"Inculcate. You know the word, right?" he smiled with a sudden slyness Sam found unnerving. He rolled his eyes at his big brother.

"Enlighten me," he sighed.

"Teaching by repeatin' it over and over," Dean grinned. "How 'bout that, that's _two_ big words I know that you don't." He chuckled to himself, and despite the wan pallor to his skin, he seemed much more like himself again.

Sam chewed on the steak thoughtfully, then shook his head.

"Whatever, Dean. Look, why do you do this to yourself? You don't see me drinking the bar dry most nights."

Dean sniffed, leaning right back against the cushioned backrest and folding his arms. "That's a question for another day, Sammy. Now eat your food."

Sam ate, Dean watched everything else _but_ Sam, and did his best to ignore the food on the table. Three different waitresses attempted to give him coffee, but each time he fended them off with dairy, nut or aspartame allergies.

"Big words, shunning food and rejecting coffee? I'm starting think you're possessed," Sam teased.

"What did you find at the hospital?" Dean asked simply, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Interesting stories of repeat thefts from the blood department. We should get back there after hours and lie in wait for this thing."

"Yeah right – what do we do, pretend to be patients?" Dean scoffed.

"With a face like yours they'd believe us," Sam said, noticing that the black shades only served to make Dean's red-rimmed eyes look purple instead.

"Nice," Dean bit out, looking out across the restaurant.

"Anyway, its residential. There's no A&E, so we'll be ok if we get in before it closes its doors for the night."

"Right. Well whatever, man, this gets solved tonight," he said casually, but Sam heard the firmness in his brother's voice.

"Absolutely," he agreed.

-------------------------------------------------

Sam picked the lock silently, letting the chain and padlock hang back slowly. He straightened and held his hand out for the torch. He waited but nothing happened.

He turned eventually and slapped a hand into Dean, who was holding the Maglite but looking round the grounds slowly.

"Dude, the light," he whispered. Dean shrugged into his black jacket a little, as if cold, before turning and handing it to him. "What is it?"

"Just keeping an eye out," Dean breathed, then gestured at the door. "Come on already."

Sam pulled the door open, waiting the extra breath to make sure the alarm didn't sound. It didn't and while he was still congratulating himself on having snipped that too, he walked in and held the door open behind him for his brother.

Dean stole in behind him, pulling the door to and looking around quickly. Sam popped on the Maglite again, waving it around the floor slowly. He found the wall and followed it round, finding they were in a small storeroom.

Dean walked round in front of him, finding the door and edging it open a crack. He stuck his eye to the gap, was content that no-one was around, and pulled it open. Sam followed him out, turning off the Maglite in the lights of the hospital corridor, both lads blinking in the sudden brightness.

Sam looked up and around, checking for cameras first and then for signs. He found none of the former and one of the latter, patting Dean's arm and gesturing to it silently. They found the right floor and room, and as one turned in the direction of the lifts.

They found the lift, the doors opening instantly, and again they looked up for cameras as they got in. There were none, so Sam pressed the button for the basement and plasma store. The lift whisked them down and before they knew it, the doors had opened again.

Dean put a hand to the gun in the back of his jeans slowly before stepping out of the lift. He looked around, the dim light cast only by security lights in the outside corridor. Sam followed, switching on the Maglite again and following his brother out into the hospital's main storeroom for blood and plasma.

"You sure about this?" Sam whispered.

"Well if he ain't here, I don't know where else he would be," Dean whispered back. "He's either snacking or sleeping. Either way, be careful."

Sam's very next move was to walk straight into a trolley filled with bags of blood ready for movement to another store. It jolted and a few bags slipped to the floor.

"Dude!" Dean hissed in disapproval, and Sam sniffed guiltily and walked on. Dean heard a noise to his right and looked over quickly even as he followed Sam. There was a pop and a sudden damp squelching sound and Dean froze.

He looked down at his foot, finding his large biker boot on top of a now very much empty bag of blood. He followed the splatter marks outward, then realised they went all the way up the back of Sam's jeans.

He paused, running his tongue over his lower lip as he thought quickly. Sam turned unexpectedly and looked at him.

"Did you say something?" he whispered.

"Uh-uh, not me," Dean replied casually, making himself look away from the mess of freshly shaken blood up the back of his younger brother's legs. Sam turned away again and Dean felt himself smile. He wiped it off quickly, clearing his throat professionally and pointing a hand at the splattered jeans. "Uh, actually, you've kinda got…"

"What?" Sam asked quickly, turning to look at him. Dean's finger wiggled up and down, but his resolve wilted under Sam's innocent gaze.

"Nothing, dude. Come on," he said, shaking his head and letting his hand drop. Sam hesitated before turning to his right, taking off by himself silently. Dean wandered further toward a set of large white doors which looked incredibly creepy in the dingy light.

He stopped and put his free hand out, opening the large door to find dry supplies in all forms arranged neatly inside. He let his eyes run over them and moved to close the door.

But it slammed into him abruptly. He was shoved off his feet. He landed on his arse, shocked. He had time to look up into the large face of the half-human creature. It appeared to be staring down at him in surprise.

He drew the gun quickly from behind him. The creature, its dark fur rippling in shock, attempted to bound over him. Instinct made Dean's hand let go of the gun. He grabbed instead for the leg or hind quarters of the beast. His fingers connected but simply dragged through heavy fur. Suddenly they closed fast on a limb of some kind.

"Dean!" came Sam's shout.

Dean did not hear. He scrabbled to keep hold of the creature. He could hear a growling, grunting noise near his head and it was not a welcome sound. He tried to push himself up from the floor and yet still hang onto the limb.

He was being shaken now, thrashed from side to side. He knew he was on his knees, his hands now tight around what appeared to be a very wide leg. He realised which way up both he and the beast were. It came to him in a flash that his head would be in a spectacularly convenient place to be bitten off.

There was a change in the noise. The creature whimpered and howled, then there was a crash and the unmistakeable sound of Sam cursing.

Dean shot to his feet, letting go of the leg with one hand. Instead he straightened and looked directly into the face of his opponent.

For a half-second they both simply stared. The taller creature's yellow eyes widened, taking in the relatively bald, half-yellow pink animal thing grabbing onto it with such a fearsome grip. It's long, wolf-like jaw attempted to open as it wondered what to make of the green eyes that burned almost as fiercely as its own.

Dean didn't think. The moment the jaw twitched his right hand shoved up and closed round something that should have been a windpipe in a normal mammal.

But this wasn't a normal mammal. It felt short, hard points jab into its neck and jerked back in pain. It raised its giant paw-like hands to swat the smaller creature. Dean moved but the creature was quicker. It slapped a huge slab of limb into his head, propelling him across the floor with a wet tile squeak.

Surprised at finding itself free, it hesitated for a long moment.

Dean rolled before he'd even stopped sliding. He righted himself and found the beast, all eight feet of it, spreading clawed hands and baying in anger at Sam. He was struggling against a possible concussion, grabbing at the trolley covered in blood bags.

Dean launched himself at the creature's back. There was a brief sensation of flying before his entire body weight slammed into the beast. It sent them both to the floor in a flurry of claws, amulets and fur.

Sam grasped at the trolley desperately, getting to his feet and looking around for his gun quickly. He spotted it and ignored the enraged growls, howls and curses from the wrestling pair. He dodged round them and snatched it up, spinning on the spot to cock it and aim.

_Aim at what?_ He watched helplessly, his older brother tangled up in the fray. _There's no way I can get him without maybe hitting Dean. Shit!_

The creature spun on the floor, wrenching Dean off smartly. He flew a full four feet up in the air before landing on his back, the wind knocked out of him. This time the creature was ready. It whipped round. It smacked into Sam and sent both him and his Taurus handgun flying. It turned quickly, spotting the large windows of the room.

It moved toward them. It was almost there before Dean appeared right in front of it. The very next moment they smacked into each other. Dean didn't pause. He shoved an elbow into the rough area of a breastbone, grabbing the limb nearest him. He stepped neatly into the arc of the beast's momentum and whirled around.

The creature was thrown round him and headfirst into the wall. Dean let go as the beast bounced against the brickwork. He threw himself into the creature's back, shoulder-first. The beast gave a wheezy roar, sounding very much winded. Yet it pushed back abruptly, shoving Dean back a few feet. As he staggered to keep his balance the animal whipped around. It stepped closer dizzily, staggering to its right and forward at Dean. It drew in a deep breath, raising its hands to strike.

Dean took a deep breath and took a running leap into the beast before it could move. The creature, caught off-guard, simply grabbed him. The resulting momentum sent them flying through the window behind.

Sam jumped up, snatching up his gun again and running out of the door. He stopped in the corridor, raising the gun quickly. He hurried up to the mass of fur on the floor.

It lay prone on its back, eyes closed, long, wolf-like lantern jaw hanging open. It exposed rows and rows of needle-sharp teeth. The brown-black fur flowed and rippled all over it.

Dean was sprawled face-down on top of its chest, his arms and legs thrown out by the impact.

"_Dean!_" Sam hissed quickly, creeping nearer to check the eyes on the beast. They were still firmly closed. But so were Dean's. Sam swallowed his fear. "_Dean!_" he tried again, crouching slowly. There was a low moan from the creature and Sam stiffened his grip on the gun. He put an almost shaky hand out to Dean's knee, pushing it urgently. "_Dean!_"

But still his brother didn't respond. Sam stared down at the waking monster and his brother, trapped in the mass of fur and claws.

And wondered just what the hell he was supposed to do now.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Sam felt real terror squeeze his throat. He put his hand out and rested it on Dean's neck. It was moving at least, there appeared to be a fast pulse underneath his terrified fingers, and Sam felt the sudden tightness in his own nerves release.

The beast moaned again. Sam stared at it, then the unconscious Dean, then back at the animal. He grasped the gun firmly in his right hand, bending closer and reaching out to slap at Dean's face.

Before his hand could make contact the creature's large yellow eyes snapped open. It drew in a deep, hissed threat of a growl. Sam jumped but still reached for his brother. The creature opened its long, nightmare mouth and inched closer to Sam's hand, hovering so closely he could feel the breath on his skin.

Sam's heart nearly stopped as they stared at each other. He had time to wonder why the beast didn't just simply attack him. The creature shifted slowly, its large left paw-like ham-fist coming round to brace for a push against the floor. Sam drew his hand back slowly, his gun still trained on the thing. It eyed him, hissing, as its right paw came round slowly. It slid round Dean's back, clamping him against it as it stood.

Sam just gawped. The eight foot beast was all rippling muscles and silky, if frightening, fur. It peered at him, holding the limp Dean to its chest securely. His boots dangled a good foot from the floor as the creature lifted its left paw toward his captive's face.

Sam froze, then put his hands out quickly to show he was not about to move again. The creature paused, then moved its hand onto Dean's chin, touching it firmly with one segmented digit. Sam took a step back quickly, his hands still up, praying that it wouldn't recognise his gun as a threat.

And that it wouldn't twist Dean's head off in anger.

They stood staring at each other. Sam felt the sweat pour from his spine and seep into his shirt. He heard the heavy breathing of the creature, the ticking of a wall clock, his own panting in fear and anxiety.

He took another step back slightly, watching avidly. The creature opened its long jaws, a narrow, dark purple tongue emerging slowly. Sam swallowed, his eyes twitching to Dean unconsciously.

The beast turned its head slightly, lifting its paw from Dean's chin and instead putting it to the top of his head. It stroked it backwards almost gently, and Sam's anxiety went up a notch. He watched in silent disbelief as the tall, frighteningly strong animal holding his older brother like some rag doll stroked at his hair and then down the side of his face. It backed away a step, watching Sam carefully.

Sam panicked. He took a step forward.

The creature hissed at him, tossed Dean over its shoulder swiftly and turned. Sam lifted the gun but saw no point in firing; the beast had already sprinted to the corner in the corridor.

And then it was gone.

-------------------------------------------------

Dean opened his eyes and then closed them again quickly in agony. The pain in his head reverberated and sliced at his eyes from the inside. He groaned at the memory of an incredibly stupid attempt to smash a half-human wolf-like creature-thing through a window.

He opened his eyes again, much more slowly this time. It all appeared to be dark, or at least very, very dim. He looked down at his watch quickly, his eyes managing to make out the time after a long second of concentrating. He found it to be going up to four in the morning and wondered where the last two hours had gone.

He pushed himself up on an elbow, looking around as best he could. It certainly seemed warm and comfortable, wherever he was. He sniffed the air, thinking it reminded him of something, but couldn't think what.

His eyes made out a rough shape, and he realised with a start that the warm thing he was stretched out on was some kind of rug. He pulled himself to sit, finding it strange that his black jacket had disappeared. He put his hands to his bare elbows, then realised he wasn't actually cold at all.

There was a rumbling sound from beneath him and he had an immediate and almost suffocating sinking feeling. The rumbling stopped, but the rug on which he was sat shifted slowly, moving and turning into a rather thick limb with a paw-like hand attached.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," he breathed dangerously, watching the shape move and open its yellow eyes.

He moved to scrabble off the creature quickly. It put its paws out and grabbed him, turning him round to haul him effortlessly back into it. His face pressed into warm fur, his arms clamped to his sides, Dean fought to breathe. He coughed on the thick matting and the pressure against his back eased somewhat.

"Look, mister," he coughed, spitting out fur and turning his head to look up. He encountered the large lupine head and instantly regretted moving. "Ha… Ah… No offence, but I really don't go for guys," he said, trying to smile and hoping that such a move was universally understood.

But the creature tilted its head and opened his mouth, sliding out the purple tongue toward him.

"Aw hell no!" Dean protested, as the tongue swept over his head and down over his ear. "Eeeeyyyiu! Get offa me!" he shouted, tugging at the strong grip. The tongue was removed abruptly and the grip loosened a little. He struggled and growled, fighting to get free. The creature growled too, but for some reason it sounded rather worryingly encouraging to Dean's ears.

He stopped moving and dared to look up at the creature. It lifted one paw slowly, keening some kind of high-pitched hum as it smoothed a single digit down the side of his head, and then his arm. The sound got a little louder and suddenly took on a definitely feminine trill to it. The creature's paw carried on down the side of his leg, then slid around slowly, feeling its way back up against the inside.

"Oh no," he moaned, his head falling back to the fur in complete mortification, "don't tell me you're actually a girl?"

The keen changed to a warm, delicate hum, the paw sliding up over the backs of his legs. It paused as it reached the top.

"Hey!" He jumped in outrage and borderline humiliation as it wheedled a paw slightly under and round. "No no no!" he cried quickly, squirming to get free. "That's definitely _not_ cool! No! Bad – er – bad beast! No Dean!" he said sternly.

The creature hesitated and Dean's squirming paid off. He slid to one side and didn't pause. He rolled off the edge of the basket-like pad and landed on his feet.

He backed away quickly, hands raised, watching the creature sit up slowly and fix him with large doe eyes.

"Aw shit," he breathed, backing up until he felt a cold brick wall in his back. "Look, er, lady, I'm real sorry, and I know this would have been one really crazy night, but really? Come on, _really_?" he said desperately. "I'm just not the guy for you. Seriously. Ask my brother, he'll tell you all about my amazing commitment problems with the ladies," he said quickly.

The beast simply hopped off the edge of the basket-pad, approaching him slowly.

"Aw, come on! Couldn't you just eat me or something?" he moaned, anguished.

He paused, mentally kicking himself for introducing certain bizarre images into his head. He managed to wipe them, but knew he would remember them all again, and in much more detail, later on. He huffed in frustration then spotted the crawl-hole dead opposite him – behind the creature's back.

"Right. Sorry darlin', but this is right about where I shag ass."

He ducked under a huge limb and made a break for the hole. His momentum died with his hope as he felt the pull of a huge paw on the back of his neck. He was pulled backwards, his feet still trying to move against the wooden floor slowly. Then he was plucked from the floor altogether, flung back into a sea of fur, and clamped into it with two large arms.

Trapped.

He was carried back toward the basket slowly to the accompaniment of gentle cooing sounds.

"This ain't the kind of shagging I meant," he ground out vehemently.

-------------------------------------------------

Sam edged round another doorway to the darkness, his gun sitting over the Maglite faithfully as he swept them both round the aperture. He waited, scanning the sights eagerly, straining his eyes to take it all in.

But it was just another hospital room, the randomly stored items therein giving nothing away. He huffed and slid back through the doorway, carrying on down the silent corridor in near darkness.

He tried another few doors before inspiration hit him. He pocketed the gun and pulled out his phone instead, finding Dean's number on the speed-dial list and pressing it. He waited impatiently as it sounded like it was connecting.

After a moment he realised he could hear music. He listened, wanting to whoop with joy but knowing it would waste time and possibly give away his own position. He made out the bashing, thrashing strains of Dean's ringtone. Unfortunately, the distance between them was so great that the full majesty of Jamie Dunlap's percussive efforts was reduced to a quiet tinny hum.

Sam didn't care. He followed the sound eagerly, having to hang up and dial again as it switched to voicemail. Refusing to believe this was a bad sign, he advanced on the noise as stealthily as he could. He rounded a corner in the hallway and found some kind of ancient metal stairs resembling a fire-escape. He looked down and there was Dean's black jacket.

He stooped and picked it up, examining it for marks or blood. There was neither and he breathed a sigh of relief. The pocket vibrated and he tutted, putting his hand in and pulling out the phone, resplendent with messages notifying the owner of missed calls. In a detached kind of way he noticed there were four, when he had only called twice. He didn't even bother checking who they were, knowing they could be any one of a dozen girls, and simply put the phone back in the pocket.

He put the jacket down again slowly and looked around, thinking. He twitched the Maglite left and right, then down. Then he let his head tilt to one side as he thought about it.

He swung the Maglite slowly, looking up. Then he snapped his fingers, smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

The creature stroked its paw down the side of his chest and Dean flinched.

"Hey – really, don't do that," he said quickly. The creature brought its huge face close to his, pressing it to his cheek and humming softly. "Oh God… Look, lady, please don't do that. I'm used to all the shootin', saltin', burnin', you know, all that normal stuff? I'm just not ready for molestation by shag-pile carpet," he added desperately.

The creature paused, pulling its head back and watching him. It put a single digit to his chin, pressing on it slowly and mewling.

"I swear to God, if you _dare_ put _anything_ in my mouth–" he began, but hesitated when he saw the eyes of the creature draw down his face to his chin. "Ah… Right," he said nervously. "So… you like the noise? You like my voice?" he hazarded. "Well if this ain't the weirdest day I've ever had," he sighed.

The creature trilled some faintly positive tune, and he looked at it, surprised.

"Ok… how about you put me down and I talk at you. How about that, huh?" he prompted, freeing a hand and putting it to the creature's grip on him. "I'll just be movin' this huge paw of yours…" He pulled its paw off him slowly, watching it carefully. It appeared amused, or simply curious.

"Don't worry, I'm just making room," he said firmly, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. But the creature just watched him, making no attempt to retake its grip on him. Its eyes sparkled as he moved away from it gradually, swallowing and turning for the edge.

"You know, ah… you got a really nice pad here," he said with false appreciation, nodding and looking round with a forced smile. He moved to sit on the basket-shaped pad, his feet braced against the edge, his knees up and his elbows resting on them lazily. The creature trilled again, fascinated, and then curled round him suddenly. He froze, waiting for something bad to happen. But it simply leaned against his back, snaking arms around him to lie on the basket either side of him. Partly, he thought, to keep them both warm and partly to impede his escape. It cooed a warm noise deep in its throat and stroked at his left arm.

He suppressed a shiver, deeming it a good time to be diplomatic.

"No food though," he observed. "I tell you man – er, sorry." He paused, searching for a word. "I tell you, darlin', I am Starvin' Marvin right now. Did I tell you we were out late last night?" he asked charmingly, looking back over his shoulder at the doe-eyed creature, positively quivering in appreciation of his voice. "No? Guess it slipped my mind. I have to say, I'm pretty much skeeved all to hell that some Chewie throwback chick would rather sit listening to my voice than eat me. Or – or do anything else," he said quickly, belatedly remembering not to use that phrase.

The creature drew its paw back, its claw inadvertently dragging over his skin, causing a bright red line. He swallowed, then shifted round slightly so as _not_ to look at the face watching him with intent.

"You know what, you ain't half bad up close. I mean, you look like you could use a few all-over waxes and maybe some dental work, but hey, that's like half the chicks in Nebraska," he shrugged. The creature made a tiny rippling noise in its throat and he cleared his throat discreetly. "You _do_ realise that when my little brother gets here, I'm leaving. I'm sorry darlin', but there it is," he said firmly. "You and me are just never gonna work out. You drink blood and kill people, I drink… mostly alcoholic stuff and kill things like you. You see?"

The creature's paw slid across his back gently, and he sighed.

"So… as long as I keep talking, you ain't gonna start stroking anything else, right?" he ventured slowly. He paused, deliberately not speaking, and the creature started to rub its paw down the side of his arm, down to the back of the waist on his jeans.

"Right… I get it," he added nervously, wetting dry lips. "Ok, so… all I have to do is keep talking till Sam turns up. Which I hope he's gonna do in the next five minutes, cos – seriously – I'm not good at this talking thing." He thought for a second. "I mean… Sammy's the talker, right? It's like… it's like he can just open his mouth and the right thing always comes out. Me?" he asked, spreading his hands helplessly and shaking his head. "I'm ah… I'm kinda the facetious one." He snorted with amusement, clasping nervous hands together. "I gotta remember that word for when Sammy gets here."

The beast paused, waiting it seemed, and Dean got the impression it wanted something more.

"Look… I… I hate to say this, and I think I'm going soft, 'cos right now I'm thinkin' it's weird you're not some automatic killing machine. I mean, you seem to think about stuff, not just plough in there and…" He smiled at himself, then looked back over his shoulder at it. "I'm talking to a walking carpet, like it understands me," he snorted.

The creature mewled happily, blinking its eyes slowly and actually managing to look amused.

"And you're enjoying this conversation. Believe me, I get that – I mean, how often would you get a chance like this?" he asked himself, looking away again. "What I'm trying to say is… I mean, what's I'm trying to justify is that… if you hadn't just killed a little girl, I'd be… ah… Well, I'd be seriously thinking about letting you off. There," he said firmly, shaking his head, "I said it. But I just can't get the poor guy's face outta my head. You killed his little daughter," he breathed, looking at his feet. "But there's just this… There's this little voice in ma head – sounds a lot like Sam, actually," he said, smiling self-consciously. "It says you drinking people's blood is like me eating steak."

He let his mind wander for a moment, but was brought back to reality with a serious _thud_ as he felt a soft paw on his neck.

"Ok then!" he said nervously, false cheer buoying his attempt at charm. "So… ah… How about them Eagles, huh? Huh? Getting back together after all this time? And Led Zeppelin – doing that benefit gig last year with Jason Bonham. Man, would have loved to see that – John's boy filling in for his dad. See, that's what it's all about," he grinned, then abruptly his smile vanished. He stared into space for a long moment, then straightened abruptly. "Well this is about as much fun as your hot date's husband coming home early," he observed with a wry smile, his attempt at levity almost painful. "I never thought I'd miss Sam so much."

-------------------------------------------------

Sam reached up and pushed the business end of the heavy Maglite into the wooden slat, unsurprised when it gave and creaked upwards. He poked it further, then jumped and managed to coerce the trapdoor arrangement into falling open.

He looked around, found nothing helpful, and remembered the creature must have been a good eight foot tall, with a reach that would have far out-stripped Mr Fantastic at full stretch. He looked up, judged distances, and then jumped.

His hands caught the wood and he found his feet hovering off the floor. His fingers slipped off again and he landed in his trainers, cursing the rough edges of the trapdoor. He tried again, this time using momentum to swing up and grab at some bar-like object inside the gap too.

He used it to crawl up, feeling his sinews and muscles scream in protest as he hauled himself up through the hole. He dragged himself through and lay on the slatting, relaxing and getting some breath back. He got to his hands and knees and looked around, picking up his Maglite before standing and looking first to his left, then his right.

It was some kind of covered catwalk, all wooden slats and dodgy shadows thrown by half-lights and reflections, and he was suddenly very glad he'd managed to retain his handgun. He pulled it free of his jacket pocket and checked it was on safety still, wanting to avoid shooting himself in the knee in pure nervous excitement.

He sniffed, wondering which way to go. His gaze fell on the slatting that served as a floor and he noticed scratches over it. He looked behind him, to his right, checking the floor and finding it devoid of such markings.

He nodded and turned back to his left, deciding to follow the scratches.

-------------------------------------------------

"Naw, sometimes it just feels like I'm the only one who gives a shit, you know?" Dean said miserably, letting his head fall forward and scrubbing at his hair with a cold hand. "I just… You see so much… so much freaky stuff, but you can't tell anyone cos they'd think you were completely nuts," he pointed out, his face bitter.

The beast hummed agreeably and he almost smiled.

"Sometimes you wonder why you do it," he mused out loud. "I don't get money out of it, or thanks. And how many times has it landed me or Sam in hospital? I'm getting to the point where I'm tired of seeing him cut up and looking like a walk-on die-off part from _Raging Bull_," he grumped.

The creature stroked a paw down his back lightly, and he got the impression it was out of sympathy.

"You really… Are you just hearing the tone of my voice?" he wondered out loud, looking at the creature for a long second. Then he smiled and shook his head. "Long time since anyone's listened to me, y'know? I mean, Sam's great and all but… Seriously, could I ever tell him this stuff? No offence, but only a chick's gonna sit through all this emo shit," he grinned, shaking his head. "It's not like I'm not used to having no-one, I mean… Just me and Dad for a few years kinda makes you realise the world would be a better place with a few women in your life who were _friends_. Man, I can't believe I said _that_ out loud," he chuckled, then fell silent, musing over this revelation.

It was silent a few minutes, until Dean felt the stroking on his back go from a friendly touch of reassurance to something else entirely. He shifted forward as delicately as he could, hoping the creature wouldn't notice. He opened his mouth to say more, desperate to fill the silence, but the beast shifted closer to his back suddenly, and he froze as he felt the warmth of its breath on the back of his neck.

"Seriously, lady, we really need to talk about–"

He stiffened in shock and repulsion as he felt something warm and wet slide over his neck. He gave an involuntary shiver as the moist, firm thing swept round the side of his jaw and up onto his face.

He reached up and grabbed the tongue, yanking it off and jumping to his feet, off the basket.

"That's it!" he cried angrily, turning to face the beast. "I can't pretend this ain't freakin' me out any more!" He ignored the hurt or injured tone he heard from the creature's ribcage and backed up swiftly. "If you _touch_ me once more I'm gonna–"

The creature drew in a long breath and roared it out at him in pain and anger. He recognised the sound of a woman scorned and did the only thing a man could do in such a situation.

He ran.

He heard the bounding of feet and claws even as his hands fastened on the flap of wood over the crawl-hole. In a flash he was ripped backwards. He sailed through the air. He braced himself for impact but there was none.

He squirmed to look around quickly, realising he was being carried upside down by an ankle. His t-shirt fell into his face and while he was busy spitting out cottony fibres he heard a decidedly human shout.

"Hey! Put – him – down!"

There was a suspiciously long pause before Dean caught his breath and his eyes widened.

"No!" he cried urgently. But it was too late; he was released.

He floated gently down to the wooden flooring in the very same way that bricks do not.


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

Dean's head collided painfully with the floor but he rolled to his hands and knees, looking up. Sam was holding the Maglite and gun on the creature, looking very jumpy.

"It didn't eat you?" he said quickly, casting a brief glance at Dean before looking back at his target.

"She had other plans," he managed, getting to his feet quickly. "We gotta go."

"I know," Sam said nervously. He looked back at Dean, worried. "It's not doing anything," he pointed out, confused.

Dean looked back at the creature and it made some kind of moaning, unhappy noise. Sam blinked.

"What?" he demanded, then looked at Dean. "What's it doing?"

"Nothing," he said gruffly, looking away from the creature quickly. He caught his brother's befuddled look before avoiding his eyes. "Come on, let's just leave."

"Dean, it is _not _going to let us leave," he snorted, surprised at him.

"Yeah she will, if we're slow," he said confidently, turning toward in the direction of the crawl-hole.

"She?" Sam prompted.

"Come on," Dean reiterated, careful to avoid his brother's eyes. He moved slowly toward Sam.

The beast threw its head back and keened piteously, and Dean stopped dead. He swallowed but refused to look anywhere but the door.

"It's not angry," Sam offered. "It's… upset."

"Yeah, I heard," Dean managed. "Let's go."

"But – it's upset," he pointed out, sounding very much confused. "I thought it was supposed to be some kind of–"

"Sam, if you don't start backing toward the escape route, I swear to God I'll get you on my way past and tattoo this entire argument on your ass," he growled.

The creature stopped keening. It began to rumble somewhere deep in its chest.

"You made it angry," Sam pointed out, taking a furtive step backwards.

"She ain't angry," Dean said anxiously, "Hurry up."

He took a step and so did Sam. The creature shuffled forward one but Sam raised the gun higher to make it more obvious. The beast stopped, its claws opening and closing in frustration. It whimpered and keened sadly, and Sam bit his lip.

He took two more hurried steps back, noticing the creature only dragged in ragged breaths. Dean managed to advance on him by three whole steps before it blew out a heart-rending wail. Sam paused, then looked at Dean.

"It doesn't want _you_ to leave?" he guessed, but his brother would not look at him.

"_Move_," he hissed angrily. He took another step.

It was too much for the creature. It coiled its powerful legs downward suddenly and pounced at Dean.

Sam jumped back, watching helplessly. The beast landed squarely on Dean's back, covering him easily as they fell to the floor in a heap. There was wrestling and struggling, the sound of Dean cursing and grunting, invectives flooding from his mouth all too easily.

The creature grappled and struggled, trying to get hold of a limb on the smaller human. Sam took a step back as the beast was pushed up and over. Dean appeared from underneath. He sprang up.

"Go!" he shouted at Sam. They turned and ran for their lives to the crawl-hole.

Sam bolted through, not stopping to check if Dean was behind him. He felt Dean's hand push his back and ran back down the long catwalk. They heard the creature squealing in anguish and barrelled on down the slatting. Sam skidded to a halt and looked down the hole made by the trapdoor. His older brother careened into him and sent them both flying to the slats.

Sam scrabbled to his feet first and Dean rolled out of his way. He got to his knees, grabbing Sam's shirt at the back and shoving him head first down the hole.

Sam fell through, cursing his brother all the way. He landed on his back by Dean's black jacket, coughing and rolling out of the way lest Dean follow him too quickly and squash him. He felt a painful stab to his left shoulder and grabbed it with his right hand, hissing in pain. He brought his hand back to see it smeared generously with blood.

He didn't have time to work out from where it had come. The next moment there was a tremendous crash. A huge ball of fur, biker boots and smashed wood came thundering down from above. Sam lifted his hands to protect his head desperately.

He waved at the dust in the air and looked over. He pushed himself to his feet quickly, grasping his shoulder in pain as he stumbled over to the huge mass of fur.

"Dean!" he shouted, coughing in pain and on dust, still swirling around from the broken up slatting and flooring.

His brother was face-down on the beast, coughing and struggling to get his hands under him. The beast, on its back, opened its eyes and moaned agonisingly. Dean gulped his breath back, watching the creature turn its huge wolf-like head round and pin him with a look.

He held his breath and lifted himself off it slowly, feeling his weak arms collapse. He rolled off the creature and onto his back gratefully. He tried to put his elbows under him to get up, but suddenly had no strength to speak of. He managed one elbow and pushed up desperately, hoping Sam had at least held onto the gun.

Something strong and furry clamped round his bicep, and he looked over at the beast quickly.

"Aw shit," he breathed.

The creature was simply lying on its back, waving its other clawed paw in the air and looking suddenly pathetic to Dean's eyes. It gave a few small coughs and its limbs fell to the floor.

It was then that Dean realised there was a metal bar sticking right up through its midriff, glistening with blood.

He gasped in shock and then looked down at the floor quickly, inexplicably unprepared for the sight. He looked up again slowly as Sam crept closer, looking down at the beast.

"We're not going to have to kill it after all," Sam said in relief. "It's nearly there already."

"Son of a bitch," Dean grunted, apparently at himself, and turned to get up. But his arms failed him and he fell on his face in the dust and wood. Sam heard and turned, a sharp intake of breath and his trainers on the wood the only sounds as he whisked over to his brother.

"Dean, take it easy," he said sternly, and the older man felt himself being rolled onto his back. "Shit," Sam snapped irritably. "Dude…" he began, but didn't know what to say.

"What?" Dean breathed, then let his eyes widen as he saw and felt Sam press his hands to his t-shirt firmly. "Ow! What the fu–"

"That pole's gone right through that creature and into you. Don't move," he instructed clearly. There was a moan and Sam looked up at the creature. He swallowed.

"Get me up," Dean grumbled.

"Dean, I said–"

"And I said get me up!" he snapped angrily.

Sam grabbed him by the arm and helped him to sit, but Dean pushed him away and half-rolled, half-dragged himself toward the beast.

He looked at it for a long moment, and Sam stood back one, confused.

"It's alright, Dean, it's nearly dead," Sam shrugged. "This is one that _isn't_ going to get away."

"_Shut up!_" Dean bawled unexpectedly, and Sam jumped. "Just – just stop talking," he growled.

Sam blinked, surprised, then just watched his brother. Dean put a hand out slowly. He touched the fur gently, hesitating. Then he let his fingers close on the limb properly, making sure it could feel his touch.

The agonised moan of the creature changed abruptly. It became a low, warm noise, perhaps a hum, perhaps a sigh. Dean moved his hand up the limb toward the powerful shoulder, and the creature studied him with its large yellow eyes.

"Told you it never woulda worked out," Dean breathed quietly, shaking his head. The creature moaned warmly, then let its mouth fall open and the purple tongue appeared, sliding down and over Dean's wrist. "Yeah. This is gonna sound lame, but… thanks for listening," he whispered.

The creature stared at him, and it looked for all the world to be amused, or somehow happy. He felt himself smile at the absurdity of it all.

The tongue rolled back in over a long few silent seconds, and then the eyes slackened abruptly. Dean watched the tiny subtle change as they lost focus and ceased working. He was aware, from the corner of his eye, of the chest rattling out its last breath, falling and failing to rise again.

His head sank to the muscular arm, and if he were honest, he couldn't say why. He let his hand fall from the fur, knowing he had no more strength left. He let a pained groan escape as he fell onto his back. He could hear Sam talking to someone and wondered fleetingly who it was.

"Dean, hold still," Sam said clearly, appearing above him and pulling off his own shirt. He folded it and laid the garment over the bloodied area of the older brother's shirt, pushing him down. Dean hissed and screwed up his eyes in pain. He put his hands down, finding Sam's pressing into his side firmly. "I've called downstairs, they're sending paramedics," Sam said quickly.

"Downstairs?" Dean echoed, lifting his hand to look at the blood on it, sounding out of breath.

"We're above a hospital, remember?" he snapped.

"Oh yeah. Sorry, was a little distracted," he managed.

"Well just don't die yet, Dean, they're like two minutes away."

"Sam… I'm pissing more blood than a fake shemp in an _Evil Dead_ film. If this ain't the end, I don't know when is," he admitted, wincing in pain.

"It's not today," Sam replied firmly, ignoring the copious amounts of blood seeping out from the make-shift bandage. He swallowed. "Not today! Don't you dare die on me, you selfish bastard!" he cried angrily.

Dean actually managed a small chuckle, painful though it sounded.

"Everybody dies, Sammy. But hey, it's not the years in my life, it's the life in my years," he managed, before he coughed roughly.

"Woah. I… don't know what to say, Dean. Never heard you so profound…" Sam offered, but then his voice left him.

"This from a man wearing a Queensryche t-shirt," he coughed. Then he grinned weakly. "See? It ain't always about big words." He swallowed with difficulty, Sam noticed.

"Yeah right. You got that from a beer coaster," he challenged, sniffing back a suddenly runny nose and hoping in a prideful way that it was only blood.

"No I did not," Dean grunted indignantly, before he cried out with pain and his body stiffened.

"Dean! Relax!" Sam said quickly, taking one hand from the wound and holding it to his brother's neck securely. "Come on, slow down, let it go," he said soothingly, watching his brother's tense frame start to unknot gradually. "That's it… Relax. The medics will be here any moment."

"Sam," he managed, opening his eyes.

"Sssh, don't speak," Sam whispered.

"Naw man, this is – this is important," he ground out.

"Dean, really, leave it for–"

"It was a menu board," he coughed.

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"It wasn't from a – from a beer coaster. It was–" He paused to gulp in a breath. "It was a Starbucks' thought for the day from the – from the menu board."

Sam grinned, lifting his hand from Dean's neck to wipe his own nose with the back. He blinked and felt his eyes drip.

"Girl," Dean tutted huskily, and Sam couldn't help it; he let out a chuckle. But as Dean's eyes rolled up and his head fell to one side, he felt his hands tense in fear.


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

Sam sat back, leafing through the magazine and sighing. He made it to the end and threw it to the hospital bed, bored out of his mind.

He heard his phone ring and had time to feel surprised before he pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the number calling, didn't recognise it, but answered it anyway.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sam," said a girl's voice, and he blinked, trying to place it.

"Hi," he said slowly.

"It's me. Becca. From the bar?" she prompted.

"From the… er…"

"A coupla days go? You had to get your brother home after all those shots?" she said, sounding a little disappointed.

"Oh! Right! Yes!" Sam said quickly. "Becca – I'm sorry I didn't call you, it was just that – well, my brother's in hospital, I'm just visiting him right now," he said soothingly.

"Oh, sorry Sam, I didn't know. Is he alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, just a slight accident… He'll be fine."

"Well tell him not to drink so much," she teased. "Anyway, just returning your call, so… If you're free some time, call me back, ok?"

"Returning_my_ call?" he echoed, lost. Then his head snapped up, eyeing the only other occupant in the room and huffing. Several harsh words went through his mind as he worked through how his phone had apparently managed to call the girl by itself. _With Dean's help, obviously_, he concluded. "Absolutely, yes," he added quickly. "Sorry I didn't leave you a real message," he added hopefully.

"That's ok, I got your number out of it. Good job you called and didn't get through, or I would never have got _your_ number," she said breezily, and he heard the smile in her voice.

"Yeah, lucky," he smiled, deciding to let it go.

"Well I'll let you go. Look after that brother of yours. He might be a bit of a wise-ass, but he's still pretty cute when he talks about you," she said. "Gotta go. Call me," she added brightly.

"I will, Becca," he grinned, cutting the line and shaking his head.

Something in the room besides him stirred and he looked over to find Dean taking a deep breath and opening his eyes. He blinked at the room, then raised a hand to rub an eye. He found a large circular sucker attached to the back of it, leading to a wire, and paused, disorientated.

"What the–"

"Hey," Sam interrupted cheerfully, leaning forward in his chair. Dean's face creased in disappointment and he relaxed into the hospital pillow abruptly. "Well thanks," Sam said charmingly, shaking his head.

"It's not you, man, it's another of these damn places. You know I hate 'em," he managed, his voice rough from non-use. He rubbed at his eyes anyway, hissing in apparent annoyance. "What day is it?" he rumbled.

"Thursday," Sam supplied helpfully. "How do you feel?"

"Oh the usual," he said tightly, "like I've been hit by a truck."

"Dean!" Sam protested, sounding like he was torn between being angry and being outraged. Dean just blinked at him as if he had no idea what he'd just said. "That wasn't funny, man," Sam managed more quietly.

Dean thought for a moment, then a look of alarm crossed his features before he cleared his throat and nodded curtly.

"Yeah, I ah… Sorry, Sam. Didn't mean it to mean somethin', it just kinda came out," he admitted awkwardly. It was silent for a few moments, then he blew out a sigh. "So what did I miss?"

Sam eyed him, then decided his brother had been through enough without having to worry about the reactions of a possibly over-stressed brother. He pasted on a brave smile.

"You, Mr Jimmy Page, were admitted in the early hours of Wednesday morning – yesterday – with a real nasty puncture wound, caused by – get this – falling from an unsafe scaffolding structure whilst carrying out maintenance work to the hospital's closed upstairs wing," he said smugly.

"Mm-hmm," Dean noted a little blearily, his eyes sliding round the room. He yawned, blinked a few times, and sniffed to himself, apparently finding the room below his excitement expectations. "Did you, ah, remove the freaky corpse before any Suits saw it?"

"I managed to distract them until it was taken care of, yeah," he said smoothly.

"Your arm," Dean suddenly noticed, and Sam looked at his left arm, currently in a light-weight sling.

"Yeah… Got a slight cut on my shoulder from the same spike that got you. And… and the… thing," he added gingerly.

Dean rolled his head away from him and looked at the ceiling.

"Did you make sure… Did you make sure she was dead?" he said quietly.

"I did. It was. Lucky break, really," Sam offered.

"I guess so. With that pipe stuck through her, she was better off," Dean allowed.

"That's not what I meant," Sam said carefully. Dean didn't answer for some moments, intent on studying the ceiling, it seemed.

"What did you do with her?" he asked eventually.

"I ah… Had to put it in the furnace," he admitted.

"Whut!"

"It was the only way to get rid of the evidence." He paused, thinking. "And… it saved you the chore," he added gently.

"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded, a little harshly, and Sam let his eyebrows twitch in sympathy.

"Look, all I'm saying is, this way you didn't have to shoot it – her – yourself. It's… easier," he admitted. _God, I hope I don't sound trite,_ he added to himself.

"Don't be so trite," Dean tutted.

"Trite?" Sam echoed, starting to smile.

"Trite," Dean confirmed. "Not a long word, I know, but it ain't so small right now," he muttered.

"I didn't think you'd be upset over me disposing of it. Not after it made us the victims of mass defenestration," he added with a childish smirk.

Dean didn't smile, just stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

"Actually? 'Defenestration' is only when you're thrown through a window," he said mildly, and Sam's face dropped. Dean looked over at Sam's slightly annoyed expression and let himself smile. "Look, don't worry about it. At least you had the _perspicacity_ to get it done," he added, his eyebrows raised and his tongue sticking out slightly from behind his upper teeth, grinning in a way that reminded Sam of so many childhood taunts and fights.

"Sure," he allowed gently, shaking his head. Then he looked up again. "What beats me is why you were still there, man. I would have thought you could have gotten out of there before I turned up and saved your ass from a messy death."

"You wanted me to MacGyver some weapon out of nothing?" Dean challenged. "I didn't even have my knife. And anyway, that chick was faster than she looked."

"Sure," Sam repeated, this time dripping with sarcasm, and Dean shot him a look that would have melted half of his cassette collection. "Anyway, important thing is, it's not going to be attacking any more people, and you're going to be out of here in a few days."

"Super," he managed, but Sam noticed he let his eyes wander to the window.

He watched his older brother, and just for a second he saw something. Maybe it was the light from the windows catching the green in his older brother's eyes, or perhaps some effect of all the medication after surgery prompting them to appear something other than they were. He couldn't be sure. But just for a moment he thought he saw sadness, or perhaps even regret.

Dean blinked and took a deep breath, rolling his head to look back up at the ceiling. Then he looked at Sam, his eyes holding nothing but boredom.

"Come on then Sammy, make yourself useful and get me the remote," he sighed.

"Alright dude, but if it's _Magnum P.I._ we're not watching it."

"Aw come on, that man has to have the porn-tachiest porn-tache in existence," Dean chuckled.

Sam shook his head and got up from his chair, crossing to find the remote control. He tossed it at his brother, watched him chuckle like a small boy, and suddenly felt very glad they were where they were.

Because at least they were together.

**THE END**


End file.
